The Untold Story
by FrostedFire
Summary: We know very little of Dolores Umbridge, yet judge her all the same. This fanfic features short flickers of her life, intending to display exactly why she acted how she did. Umbridge and Lupin involved, not very much, though.


**Hell, I dunno how I came up with this. I just hope you feel bad afterwords, because everyone has an unwritten story. Also, I based parts of this off of my own life-story so far. **

**Fixed as of now, as my format seems to be a bloody arse.**

* * *

**THE UNKNOWN LIFE OF DOLORES UMBRIDGE**

**By Rita Skeeter**

_A certain Ms Dolores Jane Umbridge, aged 47, was brought to court the day before last, tried for her crimes against Muggleborns. It was only after being tested with Veritaserum that reporters and investigators learned the full story. I, your faithful writer, have decreed that it is for the best that the world reads this story, which will be featured in a new book that I intend to publish. It is such a ghastly affair, one that might put into perspective the way that Head Auror, Harry Potter, reacted. Mr Potter, who happened to be a student during her short time as Professor and Headmistress, accused her of many things that were never proven to be true. Also, the woman was never tested for the Imperious spell, which might have led to her reaction during the horrid times that have passed. And Mr Potter insists she was in the possession of a Horcrux! Could it be that the woman was simply doing her job? What is the real story of Ms Dolores Umbridge? Stick around for more, dear reader._

* * *

Glaring steadily at the Daily Prophet, which rested on his lap, Harry Potter felt that Rita Skeeter had touched the last straw. Imagine, she had first accused Dumbledore of many things (some of which were true), but now she felt it was correct to state that he was incorrect, of all people, about Umbridge! And after the ghastly beast had died, too. Though Ron felt it was perfectly fine, even stating that, "the old toad had it coming," there was something pulsing in the man's heart. No matter what she had done, it wasn't particularly fair that she had to suffer such death as the Dementor's Kiss. Half-willing to believe that she was under a curse, the man stood, gazing around the area.

His newspaper slid to the ground, and opened to the very next page, which was displaying, in bold letters, "Potter Strikes Out". It had something to do with the Muggle American game of baseball, which he had gotten quite caught up with upon his vacation there a few days ago. Now, jet-lagged and exhausted, he payed little mind to the words that cheered on his photograph, instead wandering towards the compartment door, slamming it shut behind him.

The paper, now finished exclaiming about the man's feats, traveled down to whisper the final words of the very same page, which happened to be a tiny little piece upon the recently deceased, apparently written by her sibling. It was squeaking out, in a trembling little voice, 'She never meant harm, poor dear. Our Mummy... Never meant harm...'

Not many bothered with the little section, finding it much easier to wait for Rita Skeeter's book.

Even Harry.

* * *

**Paunchy: _(Adjective)_- Having a protruding belly or stomach. Synonyms include: fat, overweight, Dolores Umbridge.**

* * *

She fiddled with the flesh from above her plain black dress, fiddling with the skin that tucked over itself, just barely. With a squeamish little look, the ten year old attempted to pat it down. There was not much there, barely enough to make a fuss. But she had told her mother that she wished to be a dancer, a true ballerina, like the magical ones she saw at the Wizarding Theatre. Instantly, the girl was dropped into classes, and found that she had some form of grace, if not the correct shape. But this is what she loved, and what she was striving to do.

"Not right," mumbled the child, and her mother, sharp to the child's delicate edges, grimaced. Children were to be seen, and not heard. She was never supposed to be heard, nor cared about.

There were, however, other parents milling about Diagon Alley, and as one tilted her head carefully at the little pureblood girl, the elder Umbridge tilted her head with, "What's wrong, poppet?" The words were strange as they fell past her teeth, rustling the youth from her dreamy spell. Startled into admitting that she was what was incorrect, she refrained the urge to blush, and simply gazed in a different direction.

Her mother did not correct her. Instead, the pair of them continued to travel, wandering very close to the old ballet studio, so that the girl could easily see where she was to be later that evening. As they passed, brown orbs flickered towards the two-way window, watching with awe as the young women pirouetted with ease. Fingers clenched in excitement, fantasies brimming in her mind. Perhaps, one day, she could be that grand, dance that well. Her head tilted, muddy brown hair framing her face. Could it be that she would someday dance with them?

She turned sharply, staring up to gaze at her mother with pleading eyes. If any other creature saw their offspring's eyes pleading for approval, they would have murmured something. However, this woman smirked darkly, and moved her beautiful hands to her purse, sighing. "Such a shame that all those lessons will go to waste." Orbs of emerald observed her child, and she wished to wash away that disgusting piece of dirt. "Isn't it, Dolores?"

The girl grimaced at the sound of her name, the sharp, distinct sound. Disgusting was her name. Paunchy. Fat. Overweight.

It was her.

* * *

**_Mud_ and _Water_ are two very different things.**

* * *

Her closest friend was a Muggle.

Dolores Jane Umbridge bobbed and weaved with the traffic surrounding Muggle London, her long hair floating with the breeze. It was something she treasured, her hair, something she adored beyond belief. When she had ballet, she twirled it upwards into a lovely french twist, placing ornaments to drag all eyes towards her. Occasionally, someone watched, and she'd sigh. If she was out wandering, it hung, fluffy and loose.

The locks defined her.

They also created her best friend, Isabelle McAllister.

Izzy lived in the next village over, with the rest of the non-magical people, both Squibs and pure Muggles. She was tall, beautiful, and a true prima ballerina. Her eyes held the sky, such a blue that you believed it to be fake, and her skin was visibly paler due to her coal-black hair. The pair of them had met between the barriers of their homes, and, upon finding the similar passion for dance, bonded.

Apart from ballet, the two shared a hatred of the subject of Mathematics, as well as Science, though the young witch detested the latter for different reasons. Magic, to her, was the real science. They both enjoyed swimming, and most of all, their hair.

It was a daily routine: schooling, meeting, chatting, hair, leaving. Though many things rested between, and after, it mattered not to the women. Together, they were the same, and had very few things to complete. The pair would sit, braiding hair until evening, where Dolores would take her leave to be tied into a rather uncomfortable dress to attend another party. Izzy always laughed at that, and wandered back towards her home, swaying with the sweet air.

"Izzy!"

In the city, they could barely admit to knowing one another, nevertheless speak. However, this was a special case. "Hullo, Do. Wassamatter?"

She began to cry, the shorter girl, about how her mother insulted her, claiming her to be getting nowhere with the lessons of dance. The only way to soothe her, known by both, was the gentle tugging as her hair was twisted into a complicated braid. Therefore, they stood, shoulder to shoulder, as Snow White carefully fixed her friend's mind, easing her back into the way of life. It only took a few moments, and suddenly, she collapsed, unaware of the shadow looming above them.

"Dolores, you did not tell me that you had a friend nearby. Come, darling, what is your name?"

"Isabelle, Miss. Isabelle McAllister."

Now, Mrs Umbridge was certain that their was no person of magical descent of that title, which then fueled her rage even more. Her daughter was pulled by her ear, removed from the premise. After being questioned about her hair ("Izzy did it! Mum, stop!"), cursed because of her failure, and punished properly, she was allowed out to meet with her friend at the usual time.

Why?

To show her shame.

She approached the girl timidly, fingering crookedly cut locks. When asked, she could only answer, "Mud and Water do not mix," before turning away.

* * *

_**Lianna-**_

_**I am very sorry to hear about the loss of your husband, as he was such a lovely man. Now, what of a little party to cheer you up? Regulus has not been betrothed to any girl just yet, and as they are both second children... It is such a shame that your Marjory is already set to marry a Selwyn. They would have united our house!**_

_**- Hoping this finds you well,**_

_**Walburga**_

* * *

Though the door was barely cracked, if one passed the young child's door, they would have heard the most delicate sobs. She was in distress, fingers repeatedly touching the sliced strands of hair. Gone, they were all gone. Gone like her father, gone like her mother's gentle words. It was as if they never existed.

Her older sister found the display irritating, and barely offered words of comfort as she passed, occasionally peeking in. It's not that she expected anything less from the girl. Other things were on her mind. She was eighteen, and about to be married off. There was only a year left, which would be spent in 'mourning'. Not that her sibling would do any of that. For some reason, she was against all types of emotion, and was never quite attached to their father. Nobody, however, was as close as Dolores. Marjory had better things to do than shower her weak-willed guardian with affection.

Black, the customary black, was her colour, now. It swallowed up her features, hid her looks from the outside world. Though she appeared as pale as a ghost, it did not matter. Nobody of importance was to see her, as she was supposed to be sad.

"Dolores!"

She snapped to attention, ripping her body from where it had fallen, and standing in front of her bed. "Mother?"

"Get up," the woman hissed, and stared in disgust at her child. "We have a party to attend."

The tiny thing nodded, and pressed the wrinkles out of her day-dress, as if it was what she was going in. This only brought her mother's hand down, smacking her head abruptly. "For whom is the party for?" Her tentative question was accented by another smack, and as she winced, the answer came in the form of another pinch.

"Your engagement."

Her jaw dropped, which forced her to receive a little more punishment than preferred.

* * *

**"Nothing to fear but _fear_ itself."**

* * *

Being a 'Firsty' was synonymous to being garbage.

She knew this better than anyone, especially after her first week at Hogwarts. After being sorted into Slytherin, thank goodness, she supposed that she'd be at the top of the social ladder. Her family was well-known, and she was going to marry a Black, for heaven's sakes. However, she was immediately placed into the bottom category of adequate students.

To add to that, her only friend happened to be Regulus, who barely wished to be seen with her. Apart from him, there was a second-year Gryffindor boy, but the rest of his friends had cruelly insulted her. For some reason, they took it upon themselves to call her a 'Toad', insisting that her face did indeed resemble one. Now, if anyone else, truthful or not, where to answer her question to the truth of that statement, they'd have to reassure her the others were incorrect. She was very skinny! She was a dancer!

That only lasted for a bit.

Halfway through the year, with no friends, she found herself retreating into her body, attempting to summon up the courage to speak to others.

The remainder of the year, she latched onto a group, pretending to be friendly with everyone. That stopped the Gryffindor freaks from badgering her about her appearance, but did not help her self-esteem. Although the Slytherin girls were beautiful, and nice to hang out around, their personalities rested beneath a solid zero. Most moments were spent trying to fix their uniforms, the rest wasted commenting about their 'pudge', which was no more than a layer of skin.

She should have known it was not good for her.

Over the summer, she began to wear the sickening tone of pink, attempting to make her cheeks rose-tinted. Although she did not put on a lot of weight, she did seem heavier, or a bit more curvy. Either way, her mother could barely gaze upon her, and finally gave up, sending her outside.

It is then that she encountered Isabelle for the second time.

They blankly observed each other, until, at last, Dolores threw herself into the arms of her friend, laughing. Izzy simply stood, watching carefully, and broke apart, sneering. "You think that I'd be friends with a sickening toad like you?"

* * *

**_Remus-_**

**_You've been avoiding me! Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, if I did._**

**_Dolores_**

* * *

Fifth year sneaked up on her, and by then, she was secretly seeing one of the Gryffindor boys, Remus Lupin. They would meet in corners, share a few soft words, perhaps a kiss, and convene otherwise by letter. There were three reasons for this.

They were: James, Sirius, and shame.

Now, the young girl held nothing against this, for she wasn't quite comfortable shoving herself onto display for the rest of the school to criticize. A freak, dating one of the most popular (or annoying) boys in Hogwarts! It was unbelievable at best.

However, Dolly, as he began to call her, wasn't too fond of the words he spoke of her when in the presence of his friends. She could recall, clearly, the names they used when she passed. 'Freak', 'toad', and 'fatty' were of the primary list, and although she was engaged to him, Regulus' friend did the exact same thing.

She was completely alone. Because of this, the girl was more willing to throw herself towards other people, and cling to them in terror. A cheat. That was what she became. A cheat. Boys spent their nights with her, but Remus never figured out.

Until, of course, Regulus told.

They had been together for a few nights, the two Slytherins, and it was when she stopped showing up in his room that he hissed out the fact over breakfast. Though it was to his brother, as a gloat, the werewolf dropped his toast, splattering syrup all over James. Shock was visible on his face, and pain within his orbs.

After finally spilling out what happened to his friends, and why he was effected, there was a plan enacted.

The prank happened the next morning, after the witch sauntered down the stairs for her breakfast. A few flies began to swarm around her head, though she didn't seem to notice. Moments passed, with the unaware girl chewing her food slowly, remarking about the odd taste.

"A bit bitter," she muttered to anyone who listened, though they tuned her out until a minute later, when her tongue was flopping out of her mouth. It was long, so very long. Perhaps the length of a frog's, or a toad's. Tears pricked her eyes, and she attempted to disguise it, but to no avail. Her house-mates instantly threw out their fingers, laughing hysterically.

Someone dropped two eye-like hats onto her head, and another proclaimed that the resemblance was remarkable.

From next to her, there came a slight fluttering, which her tongue immediately smacked out to eat. Flies. She was chewing flies. Now crying, the girl ran from the room, unaware of the note pinned to her back.

_"You shouldn't have done that, Toadie. He found out. - The Marauders."_

* * *

**Broken.**

* * *

She was fat. Ugly. Stupid.

Twice, she had tried to take her own life. Twice.

Now, with that silly Potter boy ruining the Ministry's good name, she felt that it was time to let the hatred consume her misery. No, scratch that. It was past time.

The woman stood, facing the mirror. Her thick skin was flopping off her body, and as she tried to calm herself down, there was another part, which ran deep. Hate. Hate, hate, hate.

Fingers clutched at the sharp edges, attempting to find comfort in the shadow. None came, and she was falling, falling down.

Stupid Muggles, ruining her life. Stupid Mudbloods, who always were better at ballet than she was... Stupid half-breeds, like that Lupin fellow.

Oh, how she knew how to hold a grudge.

"And Potter," the witch hissed, seething.

Yes, that boy. Everything led to him. He lived with Muggles, he was friends with a Mudblood, and finally, he knew Lupin.

Lupin.

Her heart cracked in two, and she attempted to throw herself forward, into the reflection. Oh, how she wanted her youth to return! But it would not. She would only continue to slip down that downward spiral.

Grimacing, the woman snapped her fingers, and suddenly, two murky shapes were at her side. In a low, sweet voice, she told them the address, before stalking out of the bathroom with her work done.

They would all pay, and stupid, fat, and ugly Umbridge would be free.


End file.
